Flash Fiction #90

Nimrod

PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford

BABBLE

It was finally finished! Mr. Nimr Rad gazed about.  The entire penthouse level, the 159th floor of his towering needle in the sky, was his living suite and office.

The building had begun well, but it seemed that the higher they built, the more communication problems they had. At first, all the crews had spoken good English, but by the end, foremen seemed reduced to grunts, waving arms and pointing fingers.

From this, the highest point for hundreds of miles, he looked down upon the milling masses, and felt an almost God-like superiority.

***

Go to Rochelle’s Addicted to Fiction site and use her Wednesday photo as a prompt to write a complete 100 word story,.

He Said – She….Mumbled

Grammar Text

PENDARVIS’ THEOREM OF WHY THINGS WENT WRONG
It’s only a little bit off

As an OCD Word Nazi, I appreciate precision in all things, but especially in written and spoken English usage. I used to delight in watching the British comic, Benny Hill, not merely because he was a king of slapstick comedy, but because of his consummate control of language while doing it.

He also showed his dedication to linguistic precision with lines like, “When he said he was bent on seeing her, he meant he was bent on seeing her, not that the sight of her doubled him up.”  He complained that he had a bent wood chair in his dressing room; not a Bentwood chair, but a bent, wood chair, because of the damp in the basement.

A character with a funny accent could refer to the crime of man’s laughter, instead of manslaughter.  A skit might show an incorrectly hung sign for

Doctor Johnson, The
rapist

when it was really Doctor Johnson, Therapist.

I once had an aunt who was the epitome of imprecision. She often started conversations in the middle and worked toward each end, usually not reaching either.  It was common for her to toss out the likes of, “We went over to see him, but, of course, they weren’t home.  He wanted to go down there, but I said it was too late.  We walked to it, but I was right; it was Tuesday.”

(I hope)There was a lot going on inside her head that didn’t leak out through her mouth. I know there was a lot of alcohol involved, on both sides.  She was a ‘Lady’, and Ladies didn’t ‘drink’, although she wouldn’t refuse 6 or 8 medicinal toddies in an afternoon – or evening.  I often wondered if my Mother’s brother understood what she was talking about, or even cared.

Baby grammar seals

I recently read an article on the usages of ‘different from’ vs. ‘different than.’ It stated that ‘different from’ was accepted in all cases.  ‘Different than’ was considered proper usage only about 10% of the time – “so, one is more correct than the other.”

In the comments thread beneath, Polly Pedantic immediately struck like a stooping hawk. “Don’t you mean more nearly correct?”  No dear, they don’t!  If she’d paid a little more attention to both the article, and her own comment, she’d have seen that.

‘Nearly correct’ means incorrect, and the article plainly said that each was correct, only one more often accepted than the other.  It even gave rare examples of ‘different as’, and ‘different to.’

One single recent newspaper almost had me in tears. The headline read, ’Two youths killed when car sideswipes power pole.”  And there was the photo.  The car was wrapped around the pole in a C-shape, or a U, so, the writer doesn’t understand ‘sideswipe.’

The pole holds up a streetlight, and a traffic light, but there are no electrical wires attached to it. It’s a light standard, so the writer also doesn’t understand ‘power pole.’  The lone survivor was ejected through a rear window, which means he wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, in contravention of the clearly-written Highway Traffic Act.  Stupidity, and lack of comprehension, carries the death penalty.

The next article spoke of ten intersections that would be closed for work on the new street railroad. They included King Street at Breithaupt, and King Street at Moore Ave.  This is where I worked for almost 20 years.  It’s only one location, another of Kitchener’s fabled K-intersections.  Two side streets each approach the main drag from opposing 45° angles.  Actually, Breithaupt runs into Moore, behind the McDonald’s, and only Moore reaches King.  Ten intersections closed??  I can’t count on precision.

A brief read, “Accident sends man to hospital south of Port Elgin.” There is no hospital ‘south of Port Elgin,’ but an “Accident, south of Port Elgin, sends a man to hospital.”

Then, on to the crossword, where the clue was ‘clammering up.’ Hmm??  Do they mean ‘clamoring,’ or ‘clambering?’  Apparently it was clambering, because the solution was ‘shinning,’ but clambering doesn’t mean shinning, in the same way that trotting does not mean galloping.

It’s only a little bit off??  I am bent on seeing this drivel – by which, I precisely mean that the sight of it doubles me up. Gaakk   😳

DRAWANAWARD

Ouroboros

Recently, Cordelia’s Mom bestowed a Versatile Blogger Award upon me.  I treasure it, as I have treasured every blog award given to me.  It’s always nice to know that someone indifferently highly regards me and my abilities.  It has also been fun revealing little things about me, and making fun of myself while I was at it – however….

Like Ouroboros above, the snake that eats its own tail, or the central character in Robert Heinlein’s short story, All You Zombies, I’m going to bring this tale to an end at the same place where we came in. CM’s award was the 15th that I’ve received in the last 4 ½ years.

It all started with another Versatile Blogger Award from The Kindly Hermudgeon, as a nudge to get me moving down the blog, blog, blogging trail, like the Easter Behemoth Bunny.  Since then, there have been many lovely awards, from many lovely fellow bloggers.

award-free-blog

For two main reasons, I have decided to make this an award-free blogsite. First, I feel I have run out of previously untold facts about myself, and don’t feel I have the creative ability to compose any more acceptance posts that are humorous, or entertaining – hell, I’d settle for vaguely interesting.

Second, most awards urge you to pick 10, or 15, other worthy sites to pass the blog-torch on to – and link to them – and notify them. That all sounds suspiciously like a job, and I got out of the job business over 6 years ago.

At least blog awards are a little more upscale than office chain letters. The wife used to hate them.  She had a work friend who was addicted to them, and was always ‘honoring’ her with a copy.  She refused to play along, and always returned them to her friend(?), with the instruction to ‘choose someone else.’

They’re as bad as some religions; always trying to guilt you into doing something you may feel is poor behavior and manners, and always with the threat of retribution over your head. “The last woman who broke the chain got old and fat, and had to go home and make supper for her husband and kids.”

My creative consultant, darling daughter, LadyRyl, @ RylsRostrum, designed The Award-Free flag above, and will install it for me – long-distance, remote-control – like piloting a drone. While it could have applied anytime, OCD me wanted it effective the first of the month.  Then I realized that ‘the month’ was April, and the 1st was April Fool’s Day (how appropriate), and that some of you might regard it merely as a prank.

To those of you who have gifted me with awards in the past, I say again, Thank You Very Much! You have made me feel loved, supported, included and respected.  To those of you who might feel in the future that I deserve a bit more recognition, I will acknowledge any award and its donor, and display it, but there will be no long speech (Pheww, you dodged a bullet on that one), no ‘big reveal’, and no ramification.  (Look it up!)

😀

Flash Fiction #89

Potty

PHOTO PROMPT – © Ted Strutz

I DON’T GIVE A SHIT

Danny’s bunch of guys were a good crew. Many of them had been with him since he started his own little construction/renovation company.

With a little ingenuity, a discarded toilet, and an old trailer, he provided a Porta-Potty for the men at work sites. He had it emptied every week, and definitely before he parked it in his driveway between contracts.  Still….his wife complained of the odor.  “If you don’t correct the problem, I’ll do something to make it smell nicer.”

And so, he came out to find this.

***

Go to Rochelle’s Addicted to Purple site and use her Wednesday photo as a prompt to write a complete 100 word story.

Taken For A Ride

Mafia

I got taken for a ride recently. Fortunately it wasn’t in the trunk, and I got to go home afterwards.  After 35 years of Snap, Crackle and Popping our spines, our erstwhile Chiropractor has decided to hang up his hands.

I recently published a post about being surprised at the number of people who are so nice to me/us, when I don’t feel that we have done enough to warrant it. After handing us off like a football at the Super Bowl, Doc Bones recently contacted me to ask if he could take me (and Shimoniac) out for lunch and a beer.

I hate to admit that I am sufficiently insecure and paranoid to wonder, “What’s he up to? Does he want me to buy his collection of Elvis memorabilia?  Does he have a condo time-share that he wants me to invest in?”

A year or so ago, a group named Everclear had a bit of a hit on the radio, called, “She Likes Me For Me.” I liked the idea, but thought it was a horrible condemnation of society that so many of us are fixated on what others wear, or earn, or drive, or where they live, (Beverly Hills 90210 e.g.) rather than what we are.

The little guy in the bar, trying to pick up the statuesque blond says, “I’m not really this tall. I’m sitting on my wallet.”

Apparently the BoneShaker likes me for me, although I’m not discounting the fact that (he and) his wife babysit a granddaughter three days a week, and he has gone from having a dozen clients per day to talk with, to zero.

He just needed to get out of the house and interact with real people. There’s no sense sitting at home and going crazy with cabin fever, when he can take us to lunch and go crazy with The Bear and me.

Lancaster Smokehouse

He took us to a failed hotel and bar, which has been re-opened as a liquor-licensed Barbecue restaurant. One of several places in town which feature Blues music, its heavy planked floor has old licence plates embedded in it.

Pictures on the wall show the original hotel, when it opened in 1948, with a B/A gasoline station across the road, and a two-woman motorcycle racing team.  Tee-shirts (on the wall, for sale, and on the waitresses) say, among other things, “We have the best butts in town.”

BA Station

A good time, and a great lunch, was had by all. If ever he wants an excuse to get out of the house again, I would be willing to volunteer.  I’d like to return the favor, but, with our finances, I’d only be able to take him out to Costco for some free samples.

You’re Fired!

Fire Truck

A blonde calls the fire department and yells,
“Help me, help me, my house is on fire!”

The chief replies, “Ok, how do we get there?”

The blonde says, “Duh, the big red truck!”

***

An English professor wrote the words,
“woman without her man is a savage”
on the blackboard and directed his
students to punctuate it correctly.

The men wrote:
“Woman, without her man, is a savage.”

The women wrote:
“Woman: Without her, man is a savage.”

***

One day, Bill and Hillary went out to dinner.
The waiter asked Hillary what she wanted. She said,
“I’ll have the steak, well done, potato, chicken
soup…” the waiter asked, “what about the vegetable?”

Hillary said, “Oh, he’ll have the same”.

***

According to my calculations, the problem
doesn’t exist.

***

You know things have gotten bad when you have to
fake your orgasms while masturbating.

***

It has just been discovered that research causes
cancer in rats.

***

She tripped over a cordless phone…

***

A guy walks into a bar – and says ouch!

Two blondes walk into a bar.
You’d think the second one would have noticed.

***

An economist is an expert who will know tomorrow
why the things he predicted yesterday didn’t
happen today.

Laurence J. Peter

***

An old man is on a park bench, crying. A concerned
pedestrian enquires, “Why are you crying?”
Old man: “I just celebrated my 85th birthday,
and I got married yesterday to an 18 year old
nymphomaniac blonde beauty who is all a man
could ask for”.

Pedestrian: “Then why are you crying?”
Old man: “I don’t remember where I live.”

***

A lady came up to me on the street and pointed at
my suede jacket. ‘You know a cow was murdered for
that jacket?’ she sneered. I replied in a
psychotic tone, ‘I didn’t know there were any
witnesses. Now I’ll have to kill you too.”

***

Why is it that when you transport something by car
it’s called a shipment but when you transport
something by ship it’s called cargo?

***

Two hydrogen atoms walk into a bar.
One says, “I think I’ve lost an electron.”

The other says, “Are you sure?”

The first says, “Yes, I’m positive.”

***

A neutron walks into a bar, and asks the bartender,
“How much for a rye and coke?”

The bartender replies, “For you, no charge.”

Flash Fiction #88

Restaurant

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

TO SERVE AND SUCCEED

“Aargh, have ya ever bin ta sea, Billy?”

We were a long way from the sea. Any pirates on that trickle of water would have to come by kayak.

I loved Roger like a brother, but sometimes he was so immature. As a chef, he was supposed to be creative – artistic, but we were here to assess this old restaurant.  It died because it had served country food to country folk.

It had the stream behind, and the glorious mountains in front. With a little promotion, a new day – and the hipsters – would come.  We would serve Attitude, and Flair!

***

Go to Rochelle’s Addicted to Purple site and use her Wednesday photo as a prompt to write a complete 100 word story.

 

Attack

Arrow

I was recently assaulted. It’s my own inattentive fault.  I was blithely, blindly blundering around the blogosphere, trying to catch up on my reading and commenting, when I discovered that Cordelia’s Mom had used a trebuchet to launch another Versatile Blogger award over Niagara Falls at me.

versatileblogger113

I am always happy for any attention that doesn’t involve blue uniforms and arrest or search warrants. I hate to have to keep wiping my hard drive.  I sincerely thank CM for getting this award to me before Trump gets elected and puts up that big wall between us.

As usual, there’s a whole buncha rules.

If you are nominated, you’ve been awarded the Versatile Blogger award.

  •  Thank the person who gave you this award. That’s common courtesy.
  •  Include a link to their blog. That’s also common courtesy — if you can figure out how to do it.
  •  Next, select 15 blogs/bloggers that you’ve recently discovered or follow regularly. (I would add, pick blogs or bloggers that are excellent!)
  •  Nominate those 15 bloggers for the Versatile Blogger Award — you might include a link to this site.
  •  Finally, tell the person who nominated you 7 things about yourself.

As usual, G.O.D.’s (Grumpy Old Dude) rules supersede any silly WordPress rules, so I’m just gonna do whatever I want – but you already knew that, din’t ya??

I thanked CM for this honor, because, as a rule, I’m commonly courteous, even when I’m ignoring the rules. Secondly, I linked to CM’s beauteous blogsite (Quick, check above. I did link didn’t I? I didn’t have an[other] Alzheimer’s moment, did I?) because I’m not commonly courteous; I’m outstandingly courteous.

Next comes the sh….stuff I plan to ignore, nominations.

For various reasons, some bloggers don’t want to be bothered with blog awards, so for them, I won’t nominate them. For the other bloggers who get a kick out of a bit of recognition, there are still many to spread the joy. My not nominating anyone only means that the Universe will die the entropy death one second later.

Now comes the hardest part. Rule #5 says I have to tell the person who nominated me (i.e. Cordelia’s Mom), seven things about myself. That actually means to tell any readers. Between reading each other’s posts, comments and replies, emails, and even a couple of personal meet-and-greets, CM knows pretty much everything about me except the first name of my parole officer – (Herbert, BTW).  I’ll try.

  1. Recent insight has revealed that my lifelong lonership, my lack of friends, may stem from my thundering need for freedom and independence. That may have something to do with my Scottish ancestry. If you can show me a different, better way, I may adopt it, but I will not blindly, unquestioningly, believe and follow, whether religion, politics, sports, automakers or Kardashians, simply to ‘fit in.’ After almost 50 years of marriage, the wife still occasionally says something like, “I’ve tried to change him, but he’s just stubborn.”
  2. I do odd things with containers. Small bottles, like medicines or spice jars, I open with one hand – the left. I hold them against my palm with the third and fourth fingers, and either flip lids, or wind off screw-tops with my thumb and forefinger. I can usually put the lids back on that way too. Could I be on America’s Got Talent?
  3. Larger containers I often open by holding the top with my left hand, and turning the jar/bottle underneath it on a counter with my right. I (almost) never have a lid go flying away, to land on the cat hair floor. Can I now expect a home visit from a traveling psychologist?
  4. I couldn’t juggle if you held a gun to my head but, when moving an object from one hand to the other, I often throw/toss it – left to right, right to left – it’s only a foot or so. Exceptions include sharp knives, open drink containers, and cats. S6300243
  5. I’m not quite OCD about it, but I often count things. There are 14 steps in each stair flight in the house. When going downstairs with an armload of groceries, I’m never surprised to find that there’s another step, or almost as bad, I go to step down one more time, and there isn’t. When watering a cat from a faucet, I don’t look at a clock, I count the ticks. 60 clicks? – He’s done!
  6. Despite my singularity-ness, I truly, honestly care about people, especially the little people, the underdogs. Sadly, my physical and fiscal limitations often restrict what I can do to help others. The only folks I hate are liars, bullies and assholes. They cut into my charity work by about 90%!
  7. CM was the first fellow-blogger I had a real, live meet-and-greet with, even as I was on my way to rescue yet another blogger, lost in the wilds of Ohio, as Paul Curran recently was in Ottawa. We repeated the feat, each with a change of partners. I note that she’s hatching plots to get even more bloggers together. I hope she’s still keeping me in mind (probably ‘way back at the back).

No nominations – no list of worthy bloggers??! I’m done here.  Insert thunderous applause!

TANKS FOR THE MEMORIES

Tank

That little Iraqi War thing was the first time the American military got to play with GPS on a large scale. Iraqi tank corps were ready….as long as it came down the road.  Out in the middle of the trackless desert, it’s easy to get lost.  GPS enabled American tanks to take off from Uncle Ibn Saud’s pool and spa, travel across hundreds of miles of open desert with no signposts, and still arrive at Saddam Hussein’s garden within a couple of yards.

One night, a trio of American tanks (one mission commander and two wingmen) were moving forward. They came to the crest of a small hill, near a bunker, spotted earlier by recon aircraft.  At the bottom of a small, bowl-like valley was a tank laager – 22 Iraqi battle tanks, parked in a rough circle, facing outward, in front of the bunker.

With 3 against 22, they might have inflicted serious damage, but with the possibility of losing one or more American tanks. Wars and battles are not won by getting killed.  The commanding officer was considering calling in the warplanes, but that would give up the glory to the flyboys, and dawn was fast approaching.  By the time the bombs and rockets arrived, these guys could be long gone.

Suddenly, one of the tankers had an inspiration. Abrams tanks can do over 60MPH on flat ground.  As the first Iraqis started exiting the bunker, there was no time to explain, or receive permission.  He just accelerated down the slope and dashed inside the ring of tanks, where he roared around a couple of times, raising a huge cloud of dust.

He now had the advantage. Everything he saw that moved, was a target, while the Iraqis couldn’t fire, for fear of hitting their friends.  Some of them scrambled for their tanks, but smashed into, and blocked others.  In the American tank, it was like shooting fish in a barrel.  Target – fire – boom.  Target – fire – boom.  Target – fire – boom.  Soft target – co-ax machinegun.  Splash one rag-head.

Suddenly in the night-vision screen, they saw a soldier running from the bunker, readying an RPG – a rocket-propelled-grenade. It’s possible that the grenade might have just clanged off the tank’s armor, but it’s better not to find out.  Too quick to activate the machinegun, the gunner simply fired the main cannon.

Rags fluttered to the ground. The 40-pound warhead, travelling at 2800 feet per second passed right through him, striking an already damaged tank.  The hydrostatic shock left a fine pink mist settling to the sand.

The other two Americans watched in awe and wonder. After about five minutes, everything got quiet.  Final score: USA-22 – Iraq-0!  One lone American tank had destroyed 22 Iraqi tanks, and heavily damaged the bunker.

Proudly, the lone wolf pranced back to the pack with no more than a few dings and scratches from bumping into, what was now, a pile of garbage. Essentially, the mission Commander told him, “I understand the need for quick action, but if you ever scare me like that again, I will shoot you myself.  By the way, here’s a commendation, and maybe a little medal.”

Technology, ingenuity and independent thinking, as well as grit and guts, prevented what might have become a nasty, protracted war, and turned it into more of a police action, with relatively few American casualties. The GroPosground-pounding infantry – are the ones who write the final chapter, but ya gotta love the tankers who clear the roads so that they can get there, and get the job done. Salute!   😎

HELP!

Spring

Help, I need somebody!
Help, not just anybody.
Help, you know I need someone.
Help!

I could have used some help with this week’s Flash Fiction. I went to Rochelle’s site and examined the photo prompt.  It looked like a couple of beef leg bones in a clear plastic public garbage bag.  The only thought I had was about some greasy-spoon diner that served overly large chicken wings.  You’re better off without that story.

I decided instead, to request aid and succor from my readers. This week, in several different places, I have seen a post of 15 questions given to 8 to 10-year-old children to find out if they are geniuses (genii).  I took the test myself.  I got the right answers to 13 out of the 15 questions, so I can probably outwit some students, before they enter Middle School.

For most of the questions, when the correct answer is revealed, it’s obvious. For three of the remaining four, when the answer is shown, a note pops up to explain why and how.  I got two of these right, and two of them wrong.  One of my errors was explained, but the other one wasn’t.

I was going to leave a comment/question, asking for clarification, but found that the test is based on Facebook, and I don’t have a Facebook account to access it. Have any of my readers seen this test?  Do you know what I’m referring to?  Do you know the answer?  Do you have a Facebook account?

Here’s the question that stumped me. I guess I’ll never grow up to be an insightful genius.

Bing is to Ding
as Hug is to….
Hit/Bug/Enemy/Friend

Transposing initial letters, and answering ‘Bug’, seemed a bit too simplistic for a question searching for geniuses, but it’s the one I eventually settled for.

The correct answer is ‘Friend!’  I see how the word Hug relates to Friend, but now I can’t divine a similar relationship between Bing and Ding.

A little help – please!   😳